CHAPTER XXVI.

ENDYMION- ORION- AURORA AND TITHONUS- ACIS AND GALATEA.

ENDYMION was a beautiful youth who fed his flock on Mount Latmos.
One calm, clear night Diana, the moon, looked down and saw him
sleeping. The cold heart of the virgin goddess was warmed by his
surpassing beauty, and she came down to him, kissed him, and watched
over him while he slept.

Another story was that Jupiter bestowed on him the gift of perpetual
youth united with perpetual sleep. Of one so gifted we can have but
few adventures to record. Diana, it was said, took care that his
fortunes should not suffer by his inactive life, for she made his
flock increase, and guarded his sheep and lambs from the wild beasts.

The story of Endymion has a peculiar charm from the human meaning
which it so thinly veils. We see in Endymion the young poet, his fancy
and his heart seeking in vain for that which can satisfy them, finding
his favourite hour in the quiet moonlight, and nursing there beneath
the beams of the bright and silent witness the melancholy and the
ardour which consume him. The story suggests aspiring and poetic love,
a life spent more in dreams than in reality, and an early and
welcome death.- S. G. B.

The "Endymion" of Keats is a wild and fanciful poem, containing some
exquisite poetry, as this, to the moon:

"...The sleeping kine
Couched in thy brightness dream of fields divine.
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes,
And yet thy benediction passeth not
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot
Where pleasure may be sent; the nested wren
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken;" etc., etc.

Dr. Young, in the "Night Thoughts," alludes to Endymion thus:

"...These thoughts, O Night, are thine;
From thee they came like lovers' secret sighs,
While others slept. So Cynthia, poets feign,
In shadows veiled, soft, sliding from her sphere,
Her shepherd cheered, of her enamoured less
Than I of thee."

Fletcher, in the "Faithful Shepherdess," tells:

"How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove,
First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes
She took eternal fire that never dies;
How she conveyed him softly in a sleep,
His temples bound with poppy, to the steep
Head of old Latmos, where she stoops each night,
Gilding the mountain with her brother's light,
To kiss her sweetest."

ORION.

Orion was the son of Neptune. He was a handsome giant and a mighty
hunter. His father gave him the power of wading through the depths
of the sea, or, as others say, of walking on its surface.

Orion loved Merope, the daughter of OEnopion, king of Chios, and
sought her in marriage. He cleared the island of wild beasts, and
brought the spoils of the chase as presents to his beloved; but as
OEnopion constantly deferred his consent, Orion attempted to gain
possession of the maiden by violence. Her father, incensed at this
conduct, having made Orion drunk, deprived him of his sight and cast
him out on the seashore. The blinded hero followed the sound, of a
Cyclops' hammer till he reached Lemnos, and came to the forge of
Vulcan, who, taking pity on him, gave him Kedalion, one of his men, to
be his guide to the abode of the sun. Placing Kedalion on his
shoulders, Orion proceeded to the east, and there meeting the sun-god,
was restored to sight by his beam.

After this he dwelt as a hunter with Diana, with whom he was a
favourite, and it is even said she was about to marry him. Her brother
was highly displeased and often chid her, but to no purpose. One
day, observing Orion wading through the sea with his head just above
the water, Apollo pointed it out to his sister and maintained that she
could not hit that black thing on the sea. The archer-goddess
discharged a shaft with fatal aim. The waves rolled the dead body of
Orion to the land, and bewailing her fatal error with many tears,
Diana placed him among the stars, where he appears as a giant, with
a girdle, sword, lion's skin, and club. Sirius, his dog, follows
him, and the Pleiads fly before him.

The Pleiads were daughters of Atlas, and nymphs of Diana's train.
One day Orion saw them and became enamoured and pursued them. In their
distress they prayed to the gods to change their form, and Jupiter
in pity turned them into pigeons, and then made them a constellation
in the sky. Though their number was seven, only six stars are visible,
for Electra, one of them, it is said left her place that she might not
behold the ruin of Troy, for that city was founded by her son
Dardanus. The sight had such an effect on her sisters that they have
looked pale ever since.

Mr. Longfellow has a poem on the "Occultation of Orion." The
following lines are those in which he alludes to the mythic story.
We must premise that on the celestial globe Orion is represented as
robed in a lion's skin and wielding a club. At the moment the stars of
the constellation, one by one, were quenched in the light of the moon,
the poet tells us

"Down fell the red skin of the lion
Into the river at his feet.
His mighty club no longer beat
The forehead of the bull; but he
Reeled as of yore beside the sea,
When blinded by OEnopion
He sought the blacksmith at his forge,
And climbing up the narrow gorge,
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun."

Tennyson has a different theory of the Pleiads:

"Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the mellow shade,
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid."
Locksley Hall.

Byron alludes to the lost Pleiad:

"Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below."

See also Mrs. Hemans's verses on the same subject.

AURORA AND TITHONUS.

The goddess of the Dawn, like her sister the Moon, was at times
inspired with the love of mortals. Her greatest favourite was Tithonus
son of Laomedon, king of Troy. She stole him away, and prevailed on
Jupiter to grant him immortality; but, forgetting to have youth joined
in the gift, after some time she began to discern, to her great
mortification, that he was growing old. When his hair was quite
white she left his society; but he still had the range of her
palace, lived on ambrosial food, and was clad in celestial raiment. At
length he lost the power of using his limbs, and then she shut him
up in his chamber, whence his feeble voice might at times be heard.
Finally she turned him into a grasshopper.

Memnon was the son of Aurora and Tithonus. He was king of the
AEthiopians, and dwelt in the extreme east, on the shore of Ocean.
He came with his warriors to assist the kindred of his father in the
war of Troy. King Priam received him with great honours, and
listened with admiration to his narrative of the wonders of the
ocean shore.

The very day after his arrival, Memnon, impatient of repose, led his
troops to the field. Antilochus, the brave son of Nestor, fell by
his hand, and the Greeks were put to flight, when Achilles appeared
and restored the battle. A long and doubtful contest ensued between
him and the son of Aurora; at length victory declared for Achilles,
Memnon fell, and the Trojans fled in dismay.

Aurora, who from her station in the sky had viewed with apprehension
the danger of her son, when she saw him fall, directed his brothers,
the Winds, to convey his body to the banks of the river Esepus in
Paphlagonia. In the evening Aurora came, accompanied by the Hours
and the Pleiads, and wept and lamented over her son. Night, in
sympathy with her grief, spread the heaven with clouds; all nature
mourned for the offspring of the Dawn. The AEthiopians raised his tomb
on the banks of the stream in the grove of the Nymphs, and Jupiter
caused the sparks and cinders of his funeral pile to be turned into
birds, which, dividing into two flocks, fought over the pile till they
fell into the flames. Every year at the anniversary of his death
they return and celebrate his obsequies in like manner. Aurora remains
inconsolable for the loss of her son. Her tears still flow, and may be
seen at early morning in the form of dew-drops on the grass.

Unlike most of the marvels of ancient mythology, there still exist
some memorials of this. On the banks of the river Nile, in Egypt,
are two colossal statues, one of which is said to be the statue of
Memnon. Ancient writers record that when the first rays of the
rising sun fall upon this statue a sound is heard to issue from it,
which they compare to the snapping of a harp-string. There is some
doubt about the identification of the existing statue with the one
described by the ancients, and the mysterious sounds are still more
doubtful. Yet there are not wanting some modern testimonies to their
being still audible. It has been suggested that sounds produced by
confined air making its escape from crevices or caverns in the rocks
may have given some ground for the story. Sir Gardner Wilkinson, a
late traveller, of the highest authority, examined the statue
itself, and discovered that it was hollow, and that "in the lap of the
statue is a stone, which on being struck emits a metallic sound,
that might still be made use of to deceive a visitor who was
predisposed to believe its powers."

The vocal statue of Memnon is a favourite subject of allusion with
the poets. Darwin, in his "Botanic Garden," says:

"So to the sacred Sun in Memnon's fane
Spontaneous concords choired the matin strain;
Touched by his orient beam responsive rings
The living lyre and vibrates all its strings;
Accordant aisles the tender tones prolong,
And holy echoes swell the adoring song."
Book I., 1. 182.

ACIS AND GALATEA.

Scylla was a fair virgin of Sicily, a favourite of the Sea-Nymphs.
She had many suitors, but repelled them all, and would go to the
grotto of Galatea, and tell her how she was persecuted. One day the
goddess, while Scylla dressed her hair, listened to the story, and
then replied, "Yet, maiden, your persecutors are of the not ungentle
race of men, whom, if you will, you can repel; but I, the daughter
of Nereus, and protected by such a band of sisters, found no escape
from the passion of the Cyclops but in the depths of the sea;" and
tears stopped her utterance, which when the pitying maiden had wiped
away with her delicate finger, and soothed the goddess, "Tell me,
dearest," said she, "the cause of your grief." Galatea then said,
"Acis was the son of Faunus, and a Naiad. His father and mother
loved him dearly, but their love was not equal to mine. For the
beautiful youth attached himself to me alone, and he was just
sixteen years old, the down just beginning to darken his cheeks. As
much as I sought his society, so much did the Cyclops seek mine; and
if you ask me whether my love for Acis or my hatred of Polyphemus
was the stronger, I cannot tell you; they were in equal measure. O
Venus, how great is thy power! this fierce giant, the terror of the
woods, whom no hapless stranger escaped unharmed, who defied even Jove
himself, learned to feel what love was, and, touched with a passion
for me, forgot his flocks and his well-stored caverns. Then for the
first time he began to take some care of his appearance, and to try to
make himself agreeable; he harrowed those coarse locks of his with a
comb, and mowed his beard with a sickle, looked at his harsh
features in the water, and composed his countenance. His love of
slaughter, his fierceness and thirst of blood prevailed no more, and
ships that touched at his island went away in safety. He paced up
and down the sea-shore, imprinting huge tracks with his heavy tread,
and, when weary, lay tranquilly in his cave.

"There is a cliff which projects into the sea, which washes it on
either side. Thither one day the huge Cyclops ascended, and sat down
while his flocks spread themselves around. Laying down his staff,
which would have served for a mast to hold a vessel's sail, and taking
his instrument compacted of numerous pipes, he made the hills and
the waters echo the music of his song. I lay hid under a rock by the
side of my beloved Acis, and listened to the distant strain. It was
full of extravagant praises of my beauty, mingled with passionate
reproaches of my coldness and cruelty.

"When he had finished he rose up, and, like a raging bull that
cannot stand still, wandered off into the woods. Acis and I thought no
more of him, till on a sudden he came to a spot which gave him a
view of us as we sat. 'I see you,' he exclaimed, 'and I will make this
the last of your love-meetings.' His voice was a roar such as an angry
Cyclops alone could utter. AEtna trembled at the sound. I, overcome
with terror, plunged into the water. Acis turned and fled, crying,
'Save me, Galatea, save me, my parents!' The Cyclops pursued him,
and tearing a rock from the side of the mountain hurled it at him.
Though only a corner of it touched him, it overwhelmed him.

"All that fate left in my power I did for Acis. I endowed him with
the honours of his grandfather, the river-god. The purple blood flowed
out from under the rock, but by degrees grew paler and looked like the
stream of a river rendered turbid by rains, and in time it became
clear. The rock cleaved open, and the water, as it gushed from the
chasm, uttered a pleasing murmur."

Thus Acis was changed into a river, and the river retains the name
of Acis.

Dryden, in his "Cymon and Iphigenia," has told the story of a
clown converted into a gentleman by the power of love, in a way that
shows traces of kindred to the old story of Galatea and the Cyclops.

"What not his father's care nor tutor's art
Could plant with pains in his unpolished heart,
The best instructor, Love, at once inspired,
As barren grounds to fruitfulness are fired.
Love taught him shame, and shame with love at strife
Soon taught the sweet civilities of life."